


The Parade in Your Eyes

by Sugar_and_Salt



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Apathy, M/M, Romance, slightly futuristic/utopian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugar_and_Salt/pseuds/Sugar_and_Salt
Summary: Jongin is a dreamdancer, trained to roam the collective dream and be one of society's most loved heroes. Jongin is also terribly bored.





	The Parade in Your Eyes

 

☁

 

Swirls of cool air dissolve, way too quickly to be the offspring of a glowing cigarette. Jongin dimly pictures himself with a cigarette. The balcony's wall is cold, too. Cold and hard and lifeless. Chatter rises from the streets below, but Jongin doesn't listen. He leans his head back against the cheap plastic and stares up at the sky. Jongin is picturing himself with a cigarette. Maybe his flat gaze would look cool behind swirls of nasty smoke. Or mysterious. Maybe it would make him look like someone's hero. But the stream of heads below him didn't have very impressive heroes, and so Jongin would pass up on the toxic drug.

Above him, clouds passed by lazily. They looked utterly ordinary.

Jongin's breathing was even, posture relaxed, despite the cold winds. He blinked, but he didn't close his eyes. He didn't fall asleep.

Below him, the sounds of traffic and faint voices mingled. Jongin breathed.

In.

And out.

 

✧

 

Jongin laughed as he wriggled through a row of dancing ducks wearing big, feathery hats. Confetti rained from the sky, metallic and glittery, but he wasn't looking up to determine its actual source. There was so much going on in the realm of the collective dream that something like confetti wasn't worth paying attention to. No, Jongin only had eyes for the unusual. Those things that were born of a fractured or broken mind. Strange ideas coming that came to life at night. Dangerous ideas Jongin had to take out. That was his job. He rightened his goggles that uselessly sat on his head - because they made him look like a pilot, and Jongin liked that - before he swung himself down a slope leading from a window in a high building down. In a blur of gold, red and blue, the colorful world flashed by. Jongin threw his head back and looked up at the golden and rose-colored sky, where a puppy was running through the sky, being chased by flying spoons with outstretched arms. He laughed, because this felt like home. The collective dream was interesting and ever-changing. A challenge that made his pulse speed up and drew a grin on his face. Jongin was competitive.

His first find was a walking refrigerator, three times the size of the one Jongin owned, and it was snapping at everything around it, occasionally managing to trap a careless being inside it.

Now dangerous ideas didn't always _look_ dangerous. It was one of the first rules Jongin had learnt at the academy. The government set the rules, and it was an unspoken truth that at the end of the day, they used dreamdancers like Jongin to protect themselves and their society. Jongin wondered how many times he had exposed a member of the government as a possible threat to peace. This subconscious image, however, wasn't too worrying. Jongin jumped around it to rip open the refrigerator doors, revealing a lavish amount of food, cakes and artificial-looking vegetables. Whoever dreamt up this image was hungry - maybe in a literal sense, maybe not. Either way, the feeling was strong and the human behind it was longing for something, desperately so.

The refrigerator seemed oddly ashamed at being exposed like this, judging by how warm it got - Jongin smiled as he smashed the door closed, hard enough to have it burst in a million shreds of metal so tiny that they looked like silver stones flying through the air.

Just as the image burst, Jongin looked around for the source of it. It couldn't have been too far. Indeed, a girl nearby was standing around, looking lost and looking for something she couldn't even define herself. Understandable. Something had just vanished, something that had been a part of her. Jongin saw it in her eyes, saw poverty and sadness instead of a hunger for power, but a job was a job, so he pulled out his gun and shot her. The characteristic yellow cross bloomed on her skin, right where Jongin had marked her. Marked her as a possible threat to society. Marked her for the awake world to see. Officials would have an eye on her now. He ignored her desperate pleas and got lost in the moving chaos around him.

Jongin didn't feel guilty. The girl was afraid, sure, but if she was innocent, the government would help her. It was of no use to the system if people lived in misery. Misery created repressed feelings that could explode and rip the system to shreds, after all.

Jongin didn't like dwelling on the people behind the colorful images he was dancing with. People were boring. Boring, empty containers. You had to drag out their deepest, hidden subconscious feelings to create something even remotely interesting.

Jongin skirted around fantastical creatures he had no name for, skipped over water, watching a school of masks swim below the surface. He was scoping out his surroundings. One find would be a pretty meagre result for a night.

He skidded to a halt when the water's surface was broken by a giant penguin. It reminded him of a whale and that was worrying. Overly large dreams were a thing to worry about. Jongin avoided a splash that washed away a plethora of minor projections. Protesting squeals, fur and metal and colors, all washed away. Jongin whirled around, just like he would in the dance studio. He was dancing on the water with the ominously looming shadow beneath him. But Jongin wasn't afraid. This was a collective subconscious and he was the only conscious one. He always had the high ground.

Just before the penguin could break the surface, Jongin met him halfway by spinning around and slamming his palm into the water in a wide move. He broke the surface and felt the head of the penguin, grabbed it, and _pulled_. When he tugged it out of the water, it had turned tiny in his hands. It squealed, small and high-pitched, as it wriggled in his hands. Jongin kept holding it in the back of its neck, looking around for the owner of this odd little thing. He didn't have to search long. In between all the moving, distracted chaos proliferating around him, one person was standing perfectly still, looking him directly in the eye. Jongin let go of the penguin without tearing his eyes off its owner, hearing it skip away over the water, until it decided to dive in with a splash so small it was easily drowned in the overall picture of human nonsense. Slowly, he got to his feet. Something about the guy was different. Visually, he was attractive, but casually so, as he stood there in his slightly oversized woolen sweater and jeans, barefoot on water. The thing that made him different was invisible, like a spark being reflected in his eyes. He seemed so... clear and awake.

"Are you a dreamdancer?" he asked when Jongin was close enough for him to hear. His whole expression dropped when Jongin lifted the gun.

"Why me?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"That was your subconscious just now," Jongin answered. He wasn't sure why he was interacting with him. He never did that.

The other's eyes widened.

"Mine? This huge thing?"

Honest disbelief was colouring both his words and face. Jongin narrowed his eyes.

How could someone harbouring something so big look so inconspicuous? Was it a fluke? The other was just staring at him now, slightly taken aback, but not necessarily afraid. Jongin stared back.

He wasn't sure what he was looking at.

 _That's interesting_ , a tiny voice hummed, deep inside of him.

Jongin didn't hear it, and yet he lowered the gun.

 

☁

 

Jongin was tired. He usually was. Everything was bleak even though he was sitting at a lively café. Since he worked at night, he slept away a big chunk of the day. The remaining time was spent with an obligatory fitness program, ensuring his physical well-being. On the rare occasions that he actually left the house, he went to the café on the second floor of the building he lived in. They offered a variety of food, and Jongin was too lazy to cook. A part of him also urged him to go and be among people, despite it being nothing but depressing and suffocating. It was the right thing to do though, to be among people once in awhile.

Jongin always sat at a table in the far back, a small table for one person only. Barely anyone came to this place alone, so the table was usually free. For hours on end, Jongin would stare at the other customers and the staff as he ate his dinner like this was his own living room and the others part of a TV show. It certainly felt like that - alive or asleep, he was surrounded by a mass of independent people who were content living a confined life, who chose to live by a corset of rules, didn't even feel it pressing them down as they never even grazed its boundaries. Awake or asleep, people were so... predictable and boring.

The café was brightly lit and full of hand drawn signs and flowers. In comparison to the collective dream, everything looked so dull though. As if someone had coated reality with a milky film.

Jongin blinked lazily, taking a sip of his fruity drink. Above him, the hands of a clock were moving excruciatingly slowly.

 

✧

 

Finding the odd person with the too-big dreams was never hard. Big, soaring images were dominating the collective dream, almost begging to be taken out by Jongin. He wasn't even trying to hide. That was a stupid thing to do since Jongin was sure other dreamdancers wouldn't hesitate marking him for the public to see. So far, no one had managed to beat Jongin to it though - he took great pride in his work, and so far, he had not received a reason to doubt it. Night for night he would skid through the collective dream with grace, wearing an excited grin as he passed by colorful, surreal surroundings, always aiming at the shadow on the horizon that was Chen's dream.

Chen had easily given his name, had so easily lost his fear of Jongin, but seemed to cling on to his interest and fascination for some reason. Granted, Jongin was a dreamdancer, and if people were more aware during their dreams, they might have paid Jongin more mind, too. Everything about Chen was odd though, and Jongin felt like someone so unique shouldn't be this fascinated by him. What exactly made him unique though, Jongin couldn't put in words. He felt... closer to him than all the people he was surrounded by, both at night and during the day, but at the same time, he felt untouchable and foreign.

"Stop coming up with stuff like this!" Jongin had one day called over to Chen, who was sitting on a bench, dangling his legs as he watched Jongin fight an oversized colony of flying fish.

"Not like I have a choice," the other easily replied, having the nerve to shrug.

Jongin swung around a huge net to catch the last ones - which in turn, dispersed into a few tiny soap bubbles - to throw the owner of the dream a playfully exhausted look.

"It's like you want me to come find you," he added, and Chen actually smiled.

"I certainly don't mind."

He scooted to the side, offering Jongin a spot on the bench.

The whole chaos came to a muted halt as Jongin stared at the wood and Chen's hand patting it.

He stared.

And stared.

Then he took a step. Backwards.

And swung around to get lost in the chaos of the dream again, not looking back.

For some reason, he saw Chen's eyes without really _seeing_ them. He knew the other was looking after him thoughtfully. What exactly he might be thinking though, Jongin didn't know.

 

☁

 

Jongin felt like he was sleeping, despite his open eyes and the air fanning his skin in such a tangible way. He stared at the queue of customers getting smaller, without really seeing it.

During the day, he was asleep. At night, while chasing fantasy with the power of his own mind... he was also asleep, in a way. It was ironic. Dreamdancers were the heroes of people's stories, the muse to artists and idols to children. In a way, they worshiped people who slept their life away. What a human thing to do.

Jongin wasn't pondering any of this right now though. These thoughts were reserved for the moments he felt the most awake, like when he was accidentally ripped out of the collective dream and found himself panting and staring at the ceiling, watching the lights enter and leave with every passing car.

Right now, Jongin wasn't thinking anything and that's when someone took a seat in front of him, not even bothering to ask for permission. Annoyed, Jongin blinked as he tried to focus on whoever was bothering him, but his expression froze when he realized that it was Chen. For a moment, he thought he might have gone insane. Reality and dreams meshing together was a clear sign that Jongin was starting to burn out. The man across him looked ordinary. He was wearing a button up which was the universal piece of clothing associated with office workers or businessmen of any rank. His hair was styled in a non-too exciting way, and Jongin dimly thought that he preferred the tousled, natural way he had worn it in the dream. Without the glitz, glamour and nonsense of the collective dream, Jongin was able to take in his facial features more clearly. He wasn't good at describing things, but _friendliness_ was the first thing that came to mind. The man across him looked friendly, from his warm eyes and welcoming, open posture to the curious, expectant smile. Jongin was so, so sure that this was the person who dreamt of giant penguins and castles made of wax. And in his eyes, Jongin saw that peculiar, itching awareness. He knew who Jongin was.

"How did you find me?" Jongin asked warily. No hello, no cocky smiles, no skirting around the topic. Chen's gaze softened.

"I made an effort to," he replied. Noncommittally and yet meaningful.

Jongin was taken aback, even though his face wasn't showing it. He felt like someone had woken him from deep sleep, confronting him without warning.

 

"I can leave and not come back," Chen offered after a long minute of silence. Jongin didn't take the offer nor reject it. He was confused, frozen in place and unable to deal with this surreal situation. Chen waited another long moment, before smiling a bit brighter and offering his hand.

"Kim Jongdae, nice to meet you."

Jongin's gaze fluttered from his eyes to his hand and back again. He didn't reveal his own name - which this man probably knew already, anyway - but he took his hand.

 

✧

 

During his work, Jongin rarely thought about reality. There was simply no need to. His encounter with Kim Jongdae had resonated with him though, and had been such an out of the ordinary experience that it kept popping up. He felt the scales beneath his fingers tremble and shook off the unnecessary thoughts. He had to focus or else the dream wouldn't respond to his demands.

He inhaled deeply before opening his eyes to see the ground far below. Today, he was riding on a dragon and not ready to chase down one of Chen's big, but ultimately silly dreams.

A dark, slimey monster was rooted into the ground, devouring any dream or person that got close enough. A truly malicious dream stemming from a rotten mind. It was one of those dreams that made Jongin feel the weight of what he was doing. Still, this was a dream and dreams had certain rules. So Jongin put up a confident grin until he was starting to really feel it as he circled the air above the monster.

 _Let go of reality, drown in the adventure_ , he thought without the words really forming.

He may be Jongin, the dreamdancer, but right now, he was also Jongin, the hero. Riding on a red dragon, wielding a spear, he swooped down to attack. The monster was eating both a little boy and a carpet, greedily stretching out its fangs for any other living thing close to it. Some dreams and people were aware, others just blindly tumbled around like easy prey. The monster hissed and swung at the dragon, which wavered and roared in pain. Jongin patted it encouragingly, and they flew another circle to sweep down yet again. With a broad swing, the hero throw the spear and hit the monster right in the head. It dispersed into black, damp smoke, and the hero jumped off his dragon to retrieve the spear. If there was an audience, it would have cheered for the hero now. There was none, of course, and yet Jongin heard a clapping sound, piercing and clear over the commotion. Jongin turned to see Chen watching him, staring him directly in the eye. He kept clapping until the dreams and people around him slowly responded, falling into the clapping bit by bit, until Jongin really was a celebrated hero in a fantastic land of nonsense. Surprise eventually made room for glory and a showy grin as Jongin bowed to the spectators around, but his heart was beating wildly, almost painfully. Chen was doing something that spoke of an amazing level of skill and awareness by managing to unite members of the collective dream and get their attention.

Looking at his easy smile, Jongin didn't know whether he was scared or not. Whether he should finally mark him or not.

He didn't.

 

☁

 

The thing about Jongdae was that he was perfectly ordinary and yet not. Nothing about him screamed shady or untrustworthy. He was just a regular journalist for a big online magazine who liked to meet new people. Or chase down the people he saw in his dreams, just to tell them casual stories about his day, it seemed. Sometimes, when Jongin was letting his guard down, he'd tell him that he wasn't normal. That he wasn't who he said he was.

Jongdae would only laugh and tell him that this was exactly who he was. That there was no big secret about him, no magic or mystery to be uncovered. Jongin would argue that his dreams told another story.

"I don't know what makes my dreams so different, but what's so harmful about them?"

Jongin hesitated. His guide told him that Jongdae's dreams were dangerous, but he couldn't see anything even remotely dangerous in Jongdae himself. He should be cautious and wary, but with every day of them sitting at the table together, it got harder.

"Dreams don't always look harmful," Jongin argued instinctively. "They speak a language using ordinary objects and ideas, meshing them together-"

"I know, I know," Jongdae sighed, lowering his head to rest on his arms. When he blinked up at him, he seemed to actually pout.

"And I want to get to know the person behind _your_ dreams. Not just the encrypted dream version."

"In the dream, everyone is less encrypted than during the day," Jongin replied. He sounded defensive even to his own ears, though he had no idea what or whom he wanted to defend from Jongdae. Himself?

"Really? I don't think that applies to you," Jongdae hummed, sounding thoughtful again. The intensity in his eyes made Jongin uncomfortable, who suddenly got to his feet, causing the chair to scratch across the floor with an unnerving sound. Without a word, Jongin stumbled away from the table and left the café.

This time he did look back. Jongdae was looking after him.

 

✧

 

Today, Jongin had decided on a wild type of hero, a rogue wearing a leather jacket and tousled hair. He was riding a bike, fast enough for his surroundings to blur together and whizz by. He hadn't left his apartment in a few days, and Jongdae hadn't shown up in the collective dream. Jongin suspected that he was sleeping at different times on purpose. Jongin had avoided him, and so Jongdae had taken a step back as well.

 _I can leave and never come back_ , he had promised back then. Maybe he had finally taken Jongin's silence for an answer.

Did he interpret him right though?

Jongin had gone to bed early that night, and now he was scouring the collective dream in search of something big. Because Jongin wanted a second chance. He wanted to be the one actually voicing an answer, even if it would entail admitting that he wasn't sure what his answer was.

But there was no big dream around. He saw a marching band of mice, all the size of children. He saw a trumpet playing itself and milk cartons building a house. They were all the usual shenanigans. Maybe the collective dream had become dull in its own right, and Jongin was part of the reason why.

Jongin turned to the front, only to see a figure standing in his way. A human with curly hair who looked up as Jongin sped towards him- and he looked himself in the eye.

Startled, Jongin threw the bike around and the ground came closer as he drifted, almost lying on the street before crashing into a wall made of wrapping paper. Paper ripped and ripped, and the world turned into a blur of colored patterns and smoke. Coughing, Jongin got to his feet, squinting against the smoke of his poor, demolished bike to catch sight of what really was... Jongin himself. He just stood there, watching the actual Jongin warily with crossed arms. He wasn't wearing goggles, a uniform or armor either. Just the green, ratty, old hoodie Jongin just couldn't bring himself to throw away. The other Jongin was frowning ever so lightly, and everything about him looked out of place in the dream. He was too gloomy, too sad, too empty.

Suddenly, Jongin felt the tension bleed out of his body, leaving him limp and kind of cold. Suddenly, Jongin felt like he did when the world wasn't a mad parade that spat confetti and glitter all over everything.

This was him.

His own conscious was manifesting in the dream. What did this mean?

Jongin felt goosebumps prickling across his skin and his stomach dropping. He wasn't qualified for his job anymore. He was mixing up reality and fantasy, he was starting to create dreams unconsciously, which meant that he was losing control. They would find him. Another dreamdancer would find him, mark him, and then everything would be over, and he was scared of trying to look for a place outside of the dream-

Without hesitation, Jongin drew his gun and the other Jongin mirrored the action, movements shockingly sharp, despite his eyes being so empty. They shot at the exact same moment, and Jongin felt the impact on his forehead, felt the color splashing. The other Jongin vanished into black dust. Jongin didn't pay him any heed as he was walking down something akin to a street, in search of a mirror, rubbing his forehead frantically. When he found a warped-looking shopping window, he stepped closer to investigate his forehead. It wouldn't make sense, but he was expecting to see a yellow cross. It would be just like Jongin to take himself out. There was... nothing though. Not even color. Just unblemished skin.

"You didn't even hesitate."

He whirled around to see Jongdae sitting in another window that was lacking glass. He looked less cheery than usual, but not mad in any way.

And Jongin realized something.

"That was you," he breathed out. "You dreamt of this, not me."

Jongdae actually shrugged.

"What can I say? You've been on my mind recently. Can't help it."

 _And that's how you see me?_ Jongin wanted to ask, but stopped himself. Cold, empty, brutal. Bland and boring. Jongdae was seeing the _real_ Jongin. And yet he was interested in him for some reason. Jongin didn't understand.

He had wanted to see Jongdae, but right now, he felt confused and cornered, and would rather just wake up and call it a day, no matter the sharp criticism he'd receive from the higher ups. Usually, big impacts would manage to throw him back to reality, so Jongin pulled out his own gun to point at his temple. It wouldn't mark him if he didn't want it to. And yet he _hesitated_. He felt thrown off and insecure.

"You wanna leave already?" Jongdae asked, looking actually disappointed. "What about my dream?"

Jongin wanted to reply that this was already taken care of when Jongdae nodded upwards and when he followed his gaze. What he had absently assumed to be a mountain turned out to be a living being he couldn't categorize by reality’s standards. It looked furry and had limbs, one of them carrying a brush that was painting the sky. It might be the biggest dream yet, and instead of rolling his eyes over Jongdae's stupidly big imagination, Jongin felt... intimidated. The creature was brushing streaks of pink, dotted with white stars into the golden sky. The hero riding a bike would probably find a helicopter to jump into, dramatically attacking and defeating the dream out of the air. Jongin didn't feel like the hero right now. He felt like the young man cowering on his balcony, arms wrapped around himself as he waited for time to pass by.

He shook his head, first slowly, then more determined.

"I can't do it today," he said shakily, fists clenching and unclenching. Jongdae seemed puzzled.

"Why not?"

"Because-" Jongin started, anger flashing up but not finding a clear outlet, "because- you just proved that you know exactly why," he ended lamely, but nonetheless stubbornly. "I'm not who the dream thinks I am. I'm not... anything. I'm exactly what you pictured me as. Are you content now? You win."

Jongin didn't know what he had won, but Jongdae didn't ask. Instead, he jumped off the window sill to approach him with a mildly confused frown.

"Why can't both of them be real? You can be both," he stated as if it was the single most obvious thing in the world.

"You don't have two you's," Jongin argued, words tumbling out faster than the realization following. That was what made Jongdae so unique. There was no dream-him and real-him. Jongdae was just Jongdae, with a mind that wanted to reach for the sky and was also rooted in the ground. His subconscious, conscious, reality and dreams were all coexisting in harmony whereas Jongin felt like he had splintered beyond repair.

Unfazed by Jongin's tone, Jongdae shrugged.

"So what? I'm me and you are you. I quite like both of you."

Jongin found it incredibly hard to believe that there was anything to like about the guy who lost all ability to enjoy life. But Jongdae sounded so stupidly certain.

"Now I don't wanna come across as demanding, but that thing up there has been painting for quite awhile," Jongdae added with a sheepish grin. "Didn't you say other dreamdancers would come for me...?"

Right. Jongin turned around to watch the creature that was a product of Jongdae's subconscious. It was the biggest dream he had seen yet. Dreaming of creatures meant nothing in particular. Painting things was a sign of wanting to convey oneself. Jongin's gaze softened as he watched the brush stroke swirls of pink and sprinkles of white into the sky.

"It's... beautiful," he quietly said. He felt Jongdae's chin on his shoulder, and it felt _real_.

"Thank you. I always thought that your mind is beautiful, too," Jongdae replied, and despite the chaos around them, Jongin felt a sense of peace.

"But it really has to go. It's quite attention-seeking. I'm not sure how to take it out though," Jongdae turned his head to shoot him a mischievous grin that Jongin could barely see from the corner of his vision, but could hear clearly in his voice.

"What, you don't have any imagination left?"

Scenarios flickered by Jongin's inner eye. Images of a knight fighting on a mighty horse, ideas of a brave pirate captain or sci-fi policeman. All the ideas springing from the source of Jongin's original passion and love for stories. All of them focused on the hero, so he could make them play out right. This time though, he felt like the story wasn't about a hero. There was no need for one.

So he simply lifted his black gun and fired a single shot. It hit the fuzzy creature which seemed to comically enlarge before it burst in a big explosion of white confetti, splashing blue color into the sky that simply stuck like oil on canvas. Splashes of both natural blue and way too vibrant navy blue were splattered across the orange and golden sky. For a long time, Jongin looked up at the blue patches that he would usually only see from his balcony, as well as the general disorder of the painting that the sky had become. When he ultimately felt a hand on his waist, mostly seeking a more comfortable position, he didn't reject it.

 

☁

 

The sky was grey and cloudy, which dimmed Jongin's bravery a little. He breathed warm air into his frozen fingers and shifted on the cold wooden bench. While he watched people dressed up in the most professional and weirdest ways pitter patter down the street, shoes clacking on stone, he thought of dreams. Dreams and their meanings. By now, he had quite a few ideas.

A big penguin, washing away the incoherent mess for a moment of peace.

A wax castle, transient but beautiful. Creating and living despite the outcome possibly being ephemeral.

Dipping the sky in different colors - making a change, reaching out to people.

In between all the colorful ambitions and ideas, Jongdae had also dreamt of Jongin.

If Jongin was able to dream like normal people, would he be seeing Jongdae, too?

When he saw a familiar, padded jacket in navy blue, Jongin jumped to his feet and towards the person exiting the building. For the first time since they met back in the dream, Jongdae seemed honestly surprised.

"Jongin?" he asked, righting the strap of his bag. "How did you find me? I never told you where I work, did I?"

Jongin swallowed and met his eyes earnestly.

"I made an effort."

Just like you made an effort.

I might not be worth it, but I'll try.

I'll try once more to find my place and passion.

Many things went unsaid in that moment, because Jongin wasn't ready yet. Jongdae took it with a smile and linked their arms, promising to treat him to hot chocolate, and Jongin was eternally thankful that he went easy on him.

 

Humanity might be bland and boring, but in Jongdae's eyes was always a trace of the golden parade made of fantasy, colors and a bit of nonsense. The interesting, dazzling world found a way to sneak into reality because it was alive in Jongdae.

For the first time in too many years, Jongin felt his heart pound in excitement.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it here, I am already very thankful you gave this a chance!
> 
> there's a lot of dystopian/utopian themes woven in without really being addressed, so if you have any questions or personal theories, I'd love to read about them <3
> 
> have a wonderful day!


End file.
